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42 SIMPLE฀MACHINES The฀spoon,฀for฀instance,฀just suggests฀in฀its฀small฀half฀moon,฀the฀size of฀a฀good฀swallow,฀its฀weight the฀first฀bare฀counter-weight against฀a฀thing฀so฀huge. ฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀ Hunger,฀a฀machine฀too— red฀light฀switched฀on to฀alert,฀alert,฀the฀humming begun฀in฀any similar฀steelbox. ฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀ The฀fork฀makes further฀distinctions,฀the฀world฀ not฀to฀be฀gathered฀but฀seized,฀not invited฀in but฀pierced,฀dragged฀along.฀฀So฀we absorb,฀refuel,฀ ฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀ reset฀brain,฀heart,฀ the฀mercurial฀point-of-view฀ shifting฀with฀each฀bite,฀finally฀ omniscient฀now:฀฀oh,฀all฀of฀us฀sated,฀every฀last฀ glad฀living฀thing. ฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀The฀bowl—just฀ a฀larger฀spoon฀for฀the฀little฀spoons฀ to฀visit,฀grow฀inspired,฀rising to฀whatever฀lips.฀฀The฀plate—a฀white฀or฀blue expanse,฀the฀dream฀we฀have to฀the฀horizon฀line ฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀ at฀the฀edge฀of฀the฀table where฀even฀the฀most฀unsinkable฀ships might฀vanish฀because฀the฀world is฀flat฀via฀the฀eye’s฀most฀clever 43 first฀machinery.฀฀Everyone฀but฀Columbus knew฀that.฀฀And฀the฀knife.฀฀ ฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀ Better฀not฀ think฀of฀the฀knife,฀its฀blade turned฀in฀for฀the฀moment,฀so฀spare฀in฀its beauty,฀between฀spoon and฀plate,฀resting฀too฀quiet in฀the฀shade฀there. ...

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